Blood of the Worm

Three figures moved slowly through the desert, their outlines wavering in the relentless heat, their shadows trailing long and thin like faded memories on the sand. Waves of shimmering air rose off the dunes, twisting the horizon into a distant mirage that taunted with false promises of water and respite. The sun, a merciless overseer, burned overhead, baking the landscape into a sea of shifting ochre. Sand whispered against their stillsuits, and their breaths were shallow and dry, the recycled air tasting stale and thin.

Chani led them, her gait steady but weary. Behind her, Paul struggled to keep pace, his thoughts weighed down by more than exhaustion. Lady Jessica followed, her eyes squinting against the glare, her Bene Gesserit training the only thing sustaining her through the ordeal. They were low on water, dangerously so, the last of their reserves barely enough to moisten their lips.

Chani halted abruptly, raising her fist, her head turning slightly as if tasting the air. Her face, though drawn and weary, suddenly sharpened with intent. Without a word, she scrambled up the nearest dune, her steps quick and sure. Paul and Jessica followed, their curiosity mingled with exhaustion. As they crested the rise, they stopped, gazing down at an unexpected sight.

Half-buried in the sand lay the side of a massive, pale creature, its segmented body arched like the ribcage of a fallen beast. It was a baby sandworm, its skin dull and lifeless, the rest of its bulk swallowed by the desert that had claimed it. The air was thick with the sickly sweet scent of decay and spice, a smell that tugged at memory and instinct.

Paul squinted against the wafting dust. "What is it?"

Chani looked at him, her dark eyes reflecting the light of the setting sun. "A dead maker," she said, her voice tinged with both awe and caution. "It is rare to see one like this."

Lady Jessica drew her robe tighter, her Bene Gesserit training unable to mask her fatigue. "What does it mean for us?"

Chani knelt beside the creature, her fingers brushing the sand-streaked surface. "It means water, perhaps," she said, glancing back at them. "But danger, too."

Paul moved closer, the urgency of their situation overriding his hesitation. "Danger from what?"

"The spice," Chani replied. "In the flesh, in the blood. It can have... effects." She paused, gauging their reaction. "It is possible to get water from it, but it is risky."

Lady Jessica looked at the worm, then at Paul. Her voice was steady, but strained. "Do we have a choice?"

Paul held her gaze, then nodded slowly. "No," he said, his resolve hardening. "We don't."

Chani's hand slipped beneath her robe, emerging with a glinting knife. Her movements were deliberate, focused, as she traced her fingers along the worm's massive body, pressing lightly, testing for some hidden yield. At last, she seemed satisfied, and with a swift, sure cut, she drove the blade in. The flesh yielded with a soft sigh, and she bent quickly, sealing her mouth over the wound.

Paul and Jessica watched, their breaths suspended in the thick, spiced air. They saw Chani's cheeks hollow as she drank, then her head suddenly lolled, her body collapsing backward, dazed, her lips stained with the worm's essence. Paul leapt to her side, his hand reaching out, but he saw the glistening liquid pooling from the gash.

"Mother!" he called, urgency cracking his voice. "Drink!"

Lady Jessica hesitated, the cautious part of her mind warring with the demands of her body. She knelt beside the worm, the scent enveloping her, dizzying her. For a moment, she paused, then the thirst clawed its way to the surface. She drank deeply, then choked, the spice burning her throat. Again she drank, and again, until she stumbled back, her hands clutching at the air, and sank onto the dune.

Paul was the last. The liquid, thick and golden, filled his mouth with a heat that spread like wildfire, igniting his mind, his senses. The taste was overwhelming, a surge of cinnamon and fire, of earth and sun and life itself. He fell back, gasping, the world spinning, expanding.

"It has turned!" Chani's voice floated, distant and strange, panic threading her words. "The blood is too old!"

Paul tried to grasp her meaning, but the spice was a flood, sweeping away logic, time. His skin tingled, alive with sensation. He brushed sand from his cheek, and even that felt exquisite, like silk against his fingers. The heat built within him, rising in waves, his body thrumming with it. He looked across the dune, saw Chani and Lady Jessica, their movements languid, lost to the pleasure of it.

They were tearing at their stillsuits, the thick fabric slipping from their arms, their legs, their bodies. Jessica's hair fell loose, a copper veil in the sun. She arched back, her eyes closed, her hands moving over her skin as though discovering it anew. Chani writhed beside her, her back arched, her breaths coming in gasps, her limbs bare to the desert heat.

Paul felt the pressure building, surging, his muscles flexing involuntarily. He tore at his own stillsuit, the rough fibers clinging to him, then falling away. The air on his flesh was electric, his nerves alive with it. He groaned, rolling onto his back, the sky a swirling blue above him. The spice was an avalanche, a storm, and it was all he could do to hold on as it consumed him.

He felt the hot wind on his naked skin and in a haze he saw Chani and his mother looking at him hungrily. They crawled to him, the sand shifting beneath their knees. His cock grew rock hard, the urgency of it almost painful. Vaguely, a part of his mind whispered this was wrong, this was his mother, but the lust and pleasure were too strong.

Chani and Jessica licked and sucked him, their mouths hot and wet, tongues swirling with the spice. They kissed each other, slick and eager, as he came all over their faces, the white seed mingling with the sunlit dust. They licked up every drop, their lips shimmering gold and ivory, their eyes glazed with desire.